


Hold Me Closer Than Anyone Before

by Seananigans74



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Autistic Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Comfort, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Missing Scene, Other, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seananigans74/pseuds/Seananigans74
Summary: Just some random fluff stories about Crowley and Aziraphale. The world is in complete and utter chaos right now and I am in need of some simple, sweet Crowlaphale love to get me through it. Hopefully, it might help you out too.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	1. The Forehead Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Send Them Off!" by Bastille  
> Prompts from a random post by silver-glass on Tumblr: https://silver-glass.tumblr.com/   
> Tags will be added as stories are posted. I'm not very good at tagging things properly, so if you think of some I should add let me know.

_Soho, 2008_

It was three weeks after the Antichrist had been born and Crowley and Aziraphale were slowly coming down from their panic. They had a plan now. They would both create characters to get close to the Dowlings and keep an eye on the child. Neither of them were completely confident that it would even work, but it was the best they had and it would have to suffice.

Besides, it _had_ to work, because if it didn’t the world would be over in eleven years. And they simply could not let that happen.

Presently, the Angel and the Demon were in the former’s bookshop discussing the more playful aspects of the plan. What with the end of the world and blood rain and sea monsters aside, the idea of putting on costumes and playing an intense game of pretend was actually a little appealing.

Crowley was trying to explain the importance of a nanny’s appearance to the Angel. He was describing how the skirt and little hat were just as vital to pulling off the rouse as was the actual childcare abilities.

“’S ‘cause no one would ever have trusted some woman flying around with an umbrella had she not _looked_ the part!” Crowley was saying. “Would’ve given her one look and moved on had she just been wearing like a, you know, flannel or something.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale answered. He wasn’t entirely convinced of Crowley’s reasoning, but he was far too tired to attempt to argue with him. He was still trying to figure out his own persona anyway. Both of them thought of a nanny first, but after Crowley insisted upon the need for a Gothic recreation of Mary Poppins for the Dowlings to hire them, he was able to claim the job for himself.

Aziraphale considered applying as a cook, but he knew he’d end up far too distracted by the food from the child that way. He would have to keep thinking.

“You could be a butler. Pretty simple that way. ‘M sure they’re always needing one of those.” Crowley suggested.

“Yes, but I doubt I’d be able to spend much time with Warlock that way,” Aziraphale said as he mindlessly traced squiggles in the dust on his desk.

The two were in the backroom of the bookshop. Crowley was naturally sprawled out on his sofa while Aziraphale moved back and forth from standing near his desk and sitting across from the Demon in his cozy chair. They’ve been talking for hours now. Crowley was being given some time to himself before he needed to devote the next decade to raising the Antichrist and Aziraphale was being on a mission to find out what exactly the plan of the Other Side really was.

 _Well, that’s what I’m doing._ he figured, _Figuring out the plan._

“Do you honestly think it will work?” Aziraphale suddenly asked. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be answered, but the question had been jumping around inside of him since the plan was formed and he wasn’t able to keep it buried away anymore.

At first, Crowley didn’t answer him. He looked as if he was just going to pretend he had never heard the question in the first place. But then he turned his head and looked at the Angel with soft eyes through his glasses.

“It has to,” he said.

It wasn’t exactly an answer. It wasn’t the direct and simple “yes, I absolutely do” that Aziraphale was hoping for, but it was the best he knew he was going to get.

Aziraphale moved away from the desk and sat back down in his chair again. This time he sat on the very edge, almost like he was expecting something to happen and wanted to be able to jump up from the seat at a moment’s notice. He leaned forward a bit too, straining to get closer to Crowley without making it too painstakingly obvious that he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him.

Crowley, on the other hand, had already had his moment of weakness last night. He sat alone in his flat going over the possibility of actually losing his angel in his head over and over again. Every now and then he would shout abuse at the plants in some sort of weak attempt to take back some kind of control. The night ended when he decided that he had eleven years.

To be truly honest, he didn’t think that plan would work much. He couldn’t imagine that one Demon and one Angel would be able to fight against the Ineffable Plan of the All Mighty, but he had to try.

That’s why, as he looked at his angel sitting across from him, leaned slightly forward as if being drawn by some invisible force to his demon, Crowley felt it was worth the risk.

He got up from the sofa, swinging his legs from around the arms of the chair out in front of him, and leaned forward to meet Aziraphale in the empty space between them.

He wouldn’t do too much. He knew that one single overstep could ruin not only their friendship but the entire plan to save the world too. So he didn’t grab Aziraphale by the collar and pull him close or crowd his angel in a tight embrace, but he leaned in and touched his forehead to the Angel’s and he closed his eyes.

Aziraphale, to his credit, wasn’t shocked. Not by normal standards, anyway. He knew how Crowley felt, of course, he wasn’t an idiot. Of _course,_ he knew, but he was still taken aback by how boldly the Demon leaned in.

Aziraphale didn’t pull away either. Instead, he closed his own eyes and leaned into the touch. He felt a tingling in his face, most noticeable where his skin met Crowley’s. And the two sat like this for a long, long time.

When finally, Crowley’s anxiety caught up with him, he pulled back and stood up in one motion.

Aziraphale fell forward slightly at the sudden loss, but quickly caught himself and stood up too. He tried with all his Angelic strength to keep his hands to himself and his eyes void of longing.

Crowley cleared his throat and announced, a little too loudly considering the space they were in and the company he had, “I better get going now. Lots to do and get ready for and the such.”

Then he spun on his heel and walked to the door.

As he crossed the street outside the shop and slipped into the driver’s side of the Bentley, Crowley pushed away each thought that surfaced in his mind cheering about how he _didn’t pull away_. Not only did he not pull away, but he _leaned in_.

“Enough,” Crowley mumbled to himself. And he drove away without looking back.

All the while Aziraphale hadn’t moved from where Crowley had left him inside. He was struggling to fight a smile from showing on his face.

He hated to see him go like that – hated to not be able to tell him how much he loved their moments of rebellious freedom – but he couldn’t help but treasure the moments they did have.

The Angel allowed himself one minute of euphoria before stuffing it all back down inside and turning away.


	2. The Forehead Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a moment of realization at Crowley's apartment after the bus ride from the airbase while watching his best friend sleep.

_Mayfair_ _,_ _2019_

Aziraphale sat in the large, open sitting room in Crowley’s flat. He was resting on a black sofa that was disappointingly more suited for fashion than comfort. Next to him, Crowley was laying down with his head a few mere inches from Aziraphale’s thigh.

After the bus ride, and before that the showdown with Satan and their official resignation from Above and Below, both Aziraphale and Crowley were exhausted. They talked a bit before Crowley fell asleep though. Aziraphale was slipping into one of his cycles of anxiety again. He kept saying that Heaven wasn’t done for a long shot. That they would come back and try to get him back on their side. He was worried about Crowley too, saying that Hell would want revenge and would never let such blatant disobedience go unpunished.

He got silent the second they sat down, insisting that Crowley needn’t worry about him and that he could get some rest. The Demon, of course, refused until he could help his angel deal with some of the stress.

The plan came naturally after that. It seemed obvious once they read and reread Agnes’ final prophecy. Simple.

Aziraphale was able to calm down a little (just a little) once there was a clear plan in place. And after lots of reassurance, a few light and seemingly casual caresses on the arm, and one use of the Angel's secret weapon (really, a Demon shouldn’t be so susceptible to puppy-dog eyes), Crowley finally agreed to lay down.

So now, Aziraphale sat in silence next to this being he’d come to love against every neuron in his corporation’s brain urging him against it and that same body’s heart propelling him towards it. He had begun pressed into the corner of the sofa and Crowley spread out on the other side. His head was still close to Aziraphale, but there was still enough space for a decent-sized human being to squeeze in between them. As the silence went on, however, Aziraphale felt bolder and bolder.

Perhaps it was due to Crowley’s unconsciousness, or perhaps it was due to him finally cutting ties with the place and peoples who had made him feel so horrible for so long, but Aziraphale found that he no longer cared much about fighting the urge in him and longer.

Inch by inch, the Angel scooted closer to the Demon’s head. Crowley never stirred and Aziraphale’s eyes stayed on him the entire time. When, at last, he could just barely feel Crowley’s hair against the back of his hand that rested upon his knee, Aziraphale allowed himself to relax completely and just look at his friend.

The silence still hung in the air, but it was a comfortable silence. The sort of silence that doesn’t ask for anything from you because it’s shared with someone who doesn’t ask for anything from you either.

Lightly, Aziraphale touched the top of Crowley’s head and shifted his fingers through his hair. Still, Crowley stayed asleep and continued to breathe lightly.

“Oh, dearest,” Aziraphale said softly.

After his hand trailed down from Crowley’s head and over his cheekbone, the Angel got up and sat on his knees next to the couch. His face was almost parallel to Crowley’s now and he didn’t even try to fight off the smile that crept onto his face.

He thought back to the way his hand felt on the bus. He couldn’t even remember who had reached out then. It didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was the way their hands felt like She made them to be intertwined.

Aziraphale shifted forward slightly and, moving with extreme care, pressed his lips to Crowley’s forehead and stayed there.

His skin was warm. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s breath on his neck. He decided it was the best feeling he had ever experienced.

With even greater care than when he leaned in, Aziraphale leaned back out and sat once again on his knees.

He watched Crowley for a long time. Someday they would be able to talk about what they wanted; they could express all the things they had ever felt but were forced to keep locked away for safety’s sake. But for now, Aziraphale was content with just watching Crowley in a state of complete bliss and peace.

If he had any resignation about the plan before, it was all washed away by how he felt right now. He would gladly walk through Hell and back to protect the person in front of him. And he was ready to prove it.

 _Our side,_ he was thought to himself _It really always has been our side, hasn’t it, my love?_

The All Mighty might not have told him much, but he did know for certain now how he felt for Crowley and all that he was willing to do for him.

Funny how someone could go almost 6,000 years denying themselves something so sweet and be ready to give in the moment they’re truly free to. And Aziraphale did it with no fear, too. Because he knew how Crowley felt. Had always known it.

Crowley woke to Aziraphale’s hand cupping his face and his blue eyes looking lovingly into his own yellow orbs. He didn’t pull away as he might have before; he simply met the Angel’s gaze with his own of equal admiration and longing. Some things just _feel right_.

They had a big day ahead of them, with much unknown and even more at stake, but they were ready to do it together. As they had been for the past six millennia and would for the next hundred more.


	3. The Hairline Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While drunk, Aziraphle mentions how he prefers Crowley's long hair since it tends to give him an idea about how the Demon is feeling.

_Soho, 2000_

Crowley likes getting drunk with Aziraphale. It was much better than drinking alone, and it gave him the perfect excuse for when he let himself go a little bit too far in touching the Angel or saying things a bit too unfriendly.

Aziraphale would completely agree with all of this, except he never really got all that drunk. Sure, he drank and got tipsy, definitely passed the point of coherence a few times, but he was more afraid of slipping up than Crowley was. He was also less afraid at the same time.

While Crowley got drunk to not realize how naturally he felt about reaching out, Aziraphale got drunk enough to be able to use it as an excuse, but still wanted to remember every action. He could still make decisions.

So, on the night in question, when it was obvious Crowley had reached the point of stupid drunkenness in which there was no return, Aziraphale kept his head clear.

Clear in a partial sense, at least. He was drinking still and missed his glass a few times while trying to pour the wine, but he was thinking.

Looking at Crowley, Aziraphale shifted forward just a little bit. He had a thoughtful glare on his face that told the Demon to quiet up and pay attention.

“You changed your hair again,” he said.

“A’ways change m’ hair,” Crowley slurred in response.

“Yes, but this time it’s been...” He was sober enough to think, but speech was another issue altogether. “It’s short.”

“Oh.”

Crowley wasn’t sure why he felt so flustered by the Angel taking notice in his hair. He gulped down the rest of the wine in his glass to hide the red rising in his cheeks.

“I don’t really like it short,” Aziraphale announced, perhaps a bit too loudly.

This time Crowley couldn’t hide his embarrassment.

“Tha hell’s that s'posed to mean?”

“Not that you don’t look beautiful!” Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to blush. He tried to fix his mistake by talking almost too quickly to understand. “Well, good, I mean. You know. It’s just...”

His head was getting foggy. He knew what he wanted to say, he just wasn’t sure how exactly to say it.

It all sounded much nicer in his semi-sober brain.

“It’s longer when you’re happy,” he finally got out.

Crowley wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

It wasn't exactly a conscious effort the Demon made, but it was true. His hair did tend to give Aziraphale a small hint to how he was feeling for that particular century. Sometimes it even changed by the decade. And although “staying in style” was a reasonable enough excuse, the Angel always knew there something a bit more meaning behind it, even when it wasn’t intentional.

Crowley tried to think back to the various hairstyles he tried on throughout the years. He never really messed with it all that much until after he arrived in Rome around 38 AD. Before then it was always long with a slight curl to it. He had enjoyed running his fingers through its softness when the Job got just a little Too Much.

Sure, he did cut it short after being in Rome for a while, right around the time he panicked when he realized that his feelings for a certain Angel were only getting more intense as the world went on, but that didn’t mean his hair _always_ changed with his mood.

Yes, there was also the time in the 1600s, after The Arrangement was settled and Aziraphale seemed more comfortable around him, that he let it grow out again. And he let it stay more or less the same length throughout the 1700s and through most of the 1800s too, right up until the argument he had with Aziraphale in St. James’s Park in 1862.

Then it was short for a while. Almost as if he was losing hair the longer he and Aziraphale stayed apart…

_Oh shit,_ Crowley thought.

Suddenly the air in the bookshop seemed to be buzzing with something. Not that it was uncomfortable exactly, there was just something in the air that told Crowley to stop worrying so much and _speak_.

“I guess,” he finally said.

“So what are you unhappy about?” Aziraphale asked. “’Cause, it’s short. Not as short as, let’s see, Rome perhaps. Or 1914. But short.”

“’M not unhappy,” Crowley answered. It wasn’t entirely untrue. He wasn’t unhappy now. Not while he was with Aziraphale.

“Then stop it you old snake!”

Crowley took the chance to break the tension and laughed. Soon enough, Aziraphale was laughing too, and the heavy topic seemed to disappear with the wind.

“Why’re you paying s’much attention to my hair anyway?” Crowley said. He let his glasses slide down his nose a bit so Aziraphale could see that he was half-joking. He didn’t want him running away on him now. Not while there was a chance to get something meaningful out of the night.

Aziraphale blushed and said “I’m an Angel with a mission to observe the humans. Noticing things is my job.”

Crowley didn’t buy that for a single second, but he wasn’t going to test his luck.

“S’nice, you know,” he said

“What is?”

“Longer hair.” He lifted his hand to the top of his head and smoothed down some of the locks. It certainly wasn’t the shortest it's ever been. It went down to just about passed his ears, but he couldn’t tie it up very well. “Should try it sometime.”

“Oh no thank you, dear.” Aziraphale was quick to respond. His eyes followed Crowley’s hand while he spoke. “I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Mm,” went Crowley. “Wanna feel?”

“What?”

_Might as well power through it now_

“Hair. Soft.”

“Oh, well… I- I suppose.”

“Go ‘head,” Crowley smiled softly. He knew trying to hide it wouldn’t work, and it was probably better to jump headfirst at this point. The crazier it is the easier it will be to blame on the alcohol.

Aziraphale didn’t have enough alcohol in his system to reasonably blame his actions on, but no one had to know that. Tentatively, he reached his hand out.

Crowley’s hair _was_ soft. It slipped through the Angel’s fingers like silk and gave him a warm feeling he would never admit to.

Crowley’s eyes slowly drifted shut as he allowed himself to just feel for a bit. Aziraphale took that as an invention and shifted just a tiny bit closer and pushed his hand in closer to the Demon’s head.

Both man-shaped beings felt the same thing at that moment: comfort, peace, and – although they would make sure to never say it – love.

Aziraphale sighed lightly, making Crowley’s ear twitch because _when did he get_ that _close?_

Then, before Crowley could think anything further, he felt Aziraphale shift a little and press his lips to Crowley’s head, just where his hair meets his scalp.

Crowley tried to repress and gasp and kept his eyes shut tight.

“Sleep well, dear,” Aziraphale whispered. _Perhaps I am a bit more drunk than I thought,_ he added silently.

Crowley let his angel move him onto his back and lay him down on the chase.

_Oh,_ he thought _He thinks I’m asleep._

Then Aziraphale made a few unattractive (although Crowley might beg to differ) noises as he sobered up and walked over to his desk in the backroom.

Crowley did fall asleep eventually and when he woke up he made sure to act like he fell unconscious the second Aziraphale’s hand threaded through his hair, but he did make a small note to himself to let it all grow back out again. That way Aziraphale would never have to worry about how he was feeling and he would always have something to offer when the Angel needed something to idly toy his fingers through.


	4. Nose Boops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale helps Crowley figure out what the J stands for.

_St. James Park, 2020_

“Where did ‘Anthony’ come from?” Aziraphale asked one afternoon. He and Crowley were walking around St. James Park. It was the summer after the failed apocalypse and they were celebrating the first warm season in 11 years in which they didn’t have to worry about the End Times.

“Oh, just found it really,” Crowley responded. He had a faint smile playing across his lips. His dark sunglasses were on, but the Angel could still tell he was watching him.

“But why?”

“The humans all’ve got three names. Thought it better to blend in. ‘Sides, they kept asking, ‘oh, Crowley what, eh?’ And I didn’t have anything to give ‘em, which was strange, I guess, so I made up Anthony. Now s’no problem anymore.” Crowley explained.

“Hm, alright. But the J. What is it? You never did tell me.” Aziraphale didn’t really care all that much. It’s not like he was wondering what Crowley’s self-proclaimed middle name was for the last 79 years, but now that he could talk freely without worry, he found himself asking Crowley all the strange questions he never felt he could ask before.

“I did! Just a J. Never thought of a full name for it. Humans never asked for one.”

“Perhaps we should make one! Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Why don’t you pick?” Crowley stopped walking and the Angel stopped with him.

Aziraphale looked out over the duck pond as he considered the offer. Crowley just watched him.

They’d been taking walks through the park a lot recently. Both enjoyed it for different reasons, but they agreed that being outside was wonderful. Even freeing.

Aziraphale liked being able to show Crowley off. He was tired of hiding their relationship – whatever that relationship was: enemies, acquaintances, friends, etc. He wasn’t quite sure what to call their relationship now, but he didn’t really care. Once the immediate threat of losing him was gone, Aziraphale realized he didn’t actually mind _what_ he called Crowley, or what Crowley called him, or what anyone called them together. He was just glad to have him.

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Aziraphale finally said. “Although perhaps I could offer suggestions. I think James would be quite nice.”

“Yeah?” Crowley smirked. He knew Aziraphale was hoping he’d ask him to name him. After knowing a person for over 6,000 years, their acts of nonchalance can get a bit tired. “Quite simple. What about Jotunheim?”

“Isn’t that the name of the giants’ home in Norse Mythology?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the Demon.

“Is it? Oh yeah, is, isn’t it? Knew I heard it from somewhere... Sounded neat.”

“Johnathan? Or Jakob. Jackson…”

Crowley stayed silent as Aziraphale rattled off a few different names.

The Demon had his own reasons for enjoying the new walks in the park. He liked being able to see his angel happy. It’s why he always loved watching Aziraphale eat. The little wiggle he did, and the way his eyes fluttered shut, and the small smile that took over his entire face…

Crowley liked seeing it. Aziraphale’s happiness. And he liked being the cause of it most of all. Taking walks in the park was just one of the things Crowley suggested they do more often and the grin Aziraphale gave him in response was enough to melt the Demon right then and there.

“Anthony Johnathan?” Crowley tried the name out himself. “Anthony Jakob? No, doesn’t sound right.”

“Juliet?” Aziraphale said slyly. They had seen the play together when it first came out and he remembered the way Crowley teared up over it. He also remembered the way Crowley denied such a thing had ever happened for the next three days and his short temper for two weeks after that.

Aziraphale didn’t mind it, though. In fact, he thought it was a small price to pay for getting something he knew he could tease Crowley about for the rest of time.

“Hated that play,” Crowley mumbled.

“I know, dear. But it’s a nice name.” He didn’t add “ _What’s in a name, anyway?”_ although he very much wanted to.

“Nuh, not for me.”

“Alright. What about Jacqueline?” The Angel said, giving Crowley a saving grace from his building embarrassment.

“Anthony Jacqueline Crowley…” Crowley did like the sound of it, but he liked the change of topic even more, “Hm, not bad.”

“A bit long, though, isn’t it?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Jade? It’s a nice stone, jade. Or Jaden.”

“Think the ‘d’ sound throws it off a bit.”

“Oh, Crowley!” Suddenly, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm and looked at him with wide eyes. “Crowley, what about Jay?”

He was met with a confused look and a small, barely recognizable shift closer into his hand.

“We’ve got that already. ‘S the whole point. What’s it stand for?”

“No, Jay. J-A-Y. Anthony Jay Crowley.” Aziraphale gave him a smug yet adoring look.

“Ah! Not bad, angel. Not bad at all.” He smiled softly.

Aziraphale beamed. Without thinking, he reached out and tapped Crowley lightly on the tip of his nose.

“Clever, isn’t it?” He said with a smile.

“Anthony Jay Crowley,” Crowley said, blushing. He decided not to mention the boop on the nose. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Aziraphale gave a little wiggle and clapped his hands together in front of him.

“Yeah,” Crowley said. He didn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale’s. He smiled softly, feeling a growing warmth in his chest. “Yeah, me too.”


	5. The Knuckle/Fingers Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Crowley rescues Aziraphale from the Bastille, they enjoy one of those rare days in which they allow themselves to just be happy - far from worry and deeply in love.

_Paris, 1793_

It was a rare kind of day. Instead of worrying over his feelings, Aziraphale just let himself be happy.

Crowley had come to his rescue and accepted his offer to join him for lunch and the Angel couldn’t have been more pleased. He had a feeling Crowley would come for him in the Bastille. That’s why he waited so long before miracling himself home.

He _had_ gotten reprimanded for it by Head Office, but that just meant he needed to be more discreet. Nothing more.

Now he was in a small café in Paris, eating crepes with his favorite person. And he wasn’t going to let silly ideas like “hereditary enemies” or “the unsexy kind of forbidden love” get in his way.

Crowley sat quietly across from him, giving him that same contented look he had to offer every time he was watching Aziraphale eat. He was thinking back to the way he found his angel chained up and in the jaws of doom, but calm and happy, even, when he himself finally showed up to save him.

It was always harder for Crowley to pretend he wasn't absolutely ecstatic at seeing Aziraphale, so hearing the tables turn, hearing the way Aziraphale said his name with such joy and relief, made him feel important. Loved, almost.

 _Almost_. He wouldn't let that thought for too far.

As Aziraphale was dabbing the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief, Crowley decided to speak.

“Worth the chains then, eh?” He asked.

“Oh certainly,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. “But that was expected. Are you sure you don't want anything? I don't mind waiting if you've changed your mind.”

“No, I don't need anything. Not much one much de eating, me.”

“Alright then,” Aziraphale put down his handkerchief and tried to think. His eyebrows scrunched together in contemplation as he watched Crowley wave over a waiter. He was trying to figure out a reasonable excuse to keep the Demon around a bit longer. He did need to get back to Soho, he was still in the middle of filling out paperwork to officiate his new ownership of his bookshop, but he was in a good mood and his good moods were always better when Crowley was around.

“Up for a little walk?” Aziraphale finally asked. He decided that was safe enough.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him as he finished signing his name on the check. He felt something bubble up in his chest at the question. Before he even fully processed what was said he knew his answer was going to be “yes.”

“Sure,” he said, “Where to?”

“Oh, just around. You might have gotten to check the city out, but I hadn't walked through a single neighborhood before I was hauled off”

They stood up together and walked towards the door side by side. Aziraphale was raddling off different places in Paris they could take a look at, but Crowley wasn't really listening to what was being said as much as the _way_ it was being said.

Out of the two of them, Aziraphale was certainly the smart one. Not that Crowley wasn't smart, or that Aziraphale was some kind of intellectual genius, but a person who dedicates their life to reading and analyzing all different kinds of books is bound to earn the title “book smart” more easily than one who doesn't participate in such activities.

With that being said, Crowley was smart in his own ways. And he was especially clever when it came to watching and studying Aziraphale.

He could tell the Angel was feeling lighter, happier. He noticed the way he walked with a bounce in his step and the way his azure eyes sparkled even without being hit by the sun. It was nice to see. It made Crowley happy himself as if the joy was radiating off the Angel and being passed over to him.

The only thing he didn't know was why Aziraphale was in such a good mood. It's not like he could just ask _him_ , after all. He would either have to take a wild guess or be content with not knowing the answer.

But not getting answers was never one of Crowley’s strong suits.

He decided to take a risk.

As Aziraphale led them towards the Louvre, Crowley picked up his pace just a little bit and stepped in front of him. He got to the door first and propped it open with his left arm while making a ridiculous gesture with his right.

“After you,” he said with what he hoped was a mix of calm chivalry and sexy seduction.

“Why thank you, kind demon,” Aziraphale said with a smirk as he passed by.

But before he could get all the way inside the building, Crowley reached out to grab his hand. Then, with a mischievous glint in his serpentine eyes behind the dark sunglasses, the Demon raised his angel’s hand to his lips and kissed him on his fingers, right under the knuckles.

Crowley dropped Aziraphale's hand quickly, right after the gesture, and tried to smile. He could feel his cheeks growing red and saw the same color rising in those of his companion’s.

 _Perhaps not,_ he thought, preparing himself for the pushback.

But Aziraphale was feeling good. _Really_ good. And sometimes you're simply too happy and in love to care about what other people might think.

Still, with bright pink cheeks, Aziraphale smiled and said “Well, aren't you quite the gentleman today!” Then he walked into the museum with that same bounce and an even brighter grin. “Come along now.”

Crowley was wearing his own stupid grin now. On so obnoxiously large he had to wait for a moment at the door to compose himself. He waited so long he ended up holding the door open for a few more people before rejoining the Angel, which just made said Angel smile even more – if such a thing was possible.

The kiss wasn't mentioned for the rest of the trip through Paris. And the mood stayed joyful and happy. Later Aziraphale would wonder about what it all meant, and Crowley would end up inventing countless absurd excuses as to why Aziraphale might have reacted to it the way he did, (he couldn't allow himself to believe the _real_ reason why, which was simply that Aziraphale liked being kissed by Crowley) but for now, they would just enjoy each other’s company.

And they were so enamored by the day and each other that they didn't even notice all the times their hands brushed together. They didn't notice how long their eye contact was or how comically wide their smiles were, they didn't pay any mind to any of this. Because they were _happy_. And that was very simply all that mattered.


	6. Nervous Hand Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawley and Aziraphale learn new comforts with each other while watching the flooding of the Earth from the Ark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me a little bit. Minor angst. Not much, very short and more about the humans than our favorite Angel and Demon, but it's there.  
> Crowley is still called Crawley in this one; using they/them pronouns for the Demon as well.

_Mesopotamia, 3004 BC_

Crawley learned early that they needed to be completely aware of their actions when they were around Aziraphale. This particular lesson was learned almost at the very Beginning. It was on the Ark, in fact, after Noah and his family had already gone to sleep. The rain was still falling and there were only two things on Crawley’s mind.

Number one, they were gone. All of them. They had been able to gather a small group of children before things got too serious, but what was eleven kids compared to the rest of the innocent lives lost?

Number two, rain was a lot colder and much harder without a wing to protect you from it.

And because their mind was so occupied by these thoughts, they didn’t realize that they had reached out and clutched onto Aziraphale’s hand like a lifeline.

Aziraphale chose not to mention it. When Crawley first started fumbling for his hand, he almost didn’t notice either. After all, they’d known each other for about 1000 years now. They’d only crossed paths every now and then, and Aziraphale was certainly still wary about mingling with a Demon, but they had begun to feel more comfortable in each other’s presence.

So, for a moment, Aziraphale didn’t think anything of it. Until he did.

Once he realized what was happening, and who was clutching to his hand, he looked down in surprise. Almost as if he expected to see something other than Crawley’s long, thin fingers curled around his own soft hand.

It was shocking at first. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. How would he explain this to Head Office if they saw? What would he say?

” _Oh, yes, you see, they sort of just took my hand. And it was far too comforting to let go so I chose not to Smite them and to simply humor them. Crawley, the Demon.”_

Even thinking it to himself he knew it was preposterous.

But then he looked up at Crawley’s profile. He looked at those wide, yellow eyes and that thin, freckled nose. And he relaxed into the feeling.

The Angle turned back forward and looked at the waters raging around them. He tightened his hold on Crawley’s hand without meaning to.

“All of them,” Crawley mumbled after a loud silence.

“Afraid so,” Aziraphale responded.

The two beings stood there until the rain slowly petered out. They spoke little, but never once let their hands break apart.

Crawley realized what they were doing shortly after the sun made an appearance. They tensed immediately; their mind was suddenly overwhelmed by worry and confusion and fear, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The _worst_ of it was the hope.

_How long?_ they wondered to themself.

And then – despite everything – despite the pain and the loss and the disappointment, Crawley smiled a little. Just a little.

Perhaps there was some kind of misunderstanding, perhaps it was just Aziraphale’s being an Angel that made him feel holding on was the courteous thing to do, but no matter the reason, _he was holding on._

Aziraphale had been thinking similarly for the last few hours but at a slower pace.

He too was now smiling. He no longer cared so much about the “whys” or the “what ifs” all he wanted to do was focus on the feeling of pressure in his left hand.

It was a strange feeling for both of them. Crawley finally felt less alone. Aziraphale finally felt cared about. They wouldn’t voice these feelings, of course, they didn’t even mention them. But neither one of them showed any feelings of wanting to change anything either.

Even when they heard someone from within the Ark begin to stir and rise from their rest, they held on a bit longer.

“I should probably get to hiding, then,” Crawley said.

“Yes. That would be wise.” Aziraphale responded meekly.

Still, their hands didn't separate. When finally Crawley moved to leave, they let their hand drag across Aziraphale's until only their fingertips touched, then they left.

And even though the world around them was still raging with brutal waves, and neither one of them could possibly know what was going to happen next, they both laid back into this new feeling of hope.

Whatever happened, they knew they would meet again and that perhaps someday (hopefully) their hands would meet once more too.


	7. Nervous Hand Holding ft. The Thumb Rub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get together to make up after Crowley suggested some kind of Arrangement as the Black Knight.

_Wessex, 537 AD_

Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round was delivered a discreet note a few days after his run-in with the Black Knight. A short yet broadly built squire handed it to him as he was boarding up his horse outside King Arthur’s palace. He knew who it was from right away. The handwriting was a bit messy and wouldn’t have been readable had he not seen it before. It almost resembled the way a snake might slither across a very bumpy dirt road. 

_Sorry. Make it up to you. Lunch? - C_

“Oliver?” Aziraphale called out.

“Yes, sir?” The short squire slipped out from behind the door to the stables and looked up to Aziraphale expectantly. The boy was young and had hair the color of sand. He’d been following Aziraphale at a distance for some time now. He’d insist this knight was a true warrior of God. Had he been told just how right he was, he would laugh and run off to hit things with a sword that’s slightly too long for him to handle. 

“Take care of Serpey for me, will you?” Aziraphale said with a smile “I have to go out for a bit, but I’ll be back shortly” 

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good chap.” Aziraphale handed Oliver the rains of his chestnut and slipped behind the stables to change out of his armor with a snap. 

The Angel looked at his reflection in a miraculously clear puddle at his feet, ran his hands down his clothes to smooth out wrinkles that didn’t exist, and went on his way. 

Several miles away, a Demon named Crowley sat in a small pub. He wasn’t drinking yet, but he eyed the various alcohols behind the bar from a small table in the back of the building. He didn’t plan on getting drunk today, but depending on how the conversation he was planning on having with his angel went, his plans might have to change. 

After a while, the door to the pub opened slightly. Almost no one noticed it. The sun had just disappeared over the horizon and the stars were just beginning to show which meant everyone inside would be focused on getting their hands on a drink strong enough to knock them out for a few hours. Aziraphale slipped inside without so much as a glance in his direction. 

Well, almost. Crowley noticed. He always noticed Aziraphale, even when he told himself not to. 

Crowley lifted his hand to wave the Angel over and tried to give him a smile. Well, he didn’t “try to give him a smile” exactly. The smiling part was easy. What he was _trying_ to do was not grin like an absolute idiot and yell at the top of his lungs “Thank Someone you came!” 

This proved to be extraordinarily difficult. Still, Aziraphale made it to the table before Crowley could make a fool of himself. The Demon considered that a win. 

“Hello, Angel,” he said in the most seductive-yet-unbothered voice he could imagine. 

“Cra- Crowley. Nice to see you again.” Aziraphale almost sang. 

The Angel placed his hands gingerly on the table in front of him. He was twisting them together in a fidgety motion. He rubbed his palms with his thumbs, and swiped his fingers over his knuckles, and touched each fingertip together a couple of different times. 

Crowley was watching this peculiar movement intently. He had had a purpose in inviting him here. He had meant to talk about what was said a few days ago in the fog. He even planned the whole conversation out. 

First, he’d bring it up casually, almost as if he were joking. Then he’d lean into it some more, asking why it couldn’t work. They’d go back and forth for a bit. Crowley would insist that nothing would go wrong, Aziraphale would worry over the dangers and the details, and eventually, Crowley would wear him out. Aziraphale would agree to try it  _just once_ and then the Demon would have an excuse to see his angel more regularly without having to worry so much about boundaries and coming up with different reasons as to why. 

But all that disappeared the longer Crowley watched Aziraphale’s hands. 

“You alright?” He asked. 

“Oh, yes. Just fine. Quite well actually, if I do say so.” Aziraphale brightened more and more as he spoke. “I’m making quite a bit of progress in the kingdom. Lots of happy people doing good. Being good. I must say all this, well, _goodness_ might end up giving you a run for your money.”

_Pride,_ Crowley thought to himself. He began to smile again.  _Good for him._

“What’s with the hands?” He inclined his head towards the table where Aziraphale was moving idly. 

“Hm? Oh, nothing really. Just feels nice.” 

“What does?”

“The movement. The pressure. Comforting, I suppose.” Aziraphale was blushing now and tucked his hands under the table. 

“No no no no no.” Crowley stumbled over his words and reached across the table, almost as if he were going to touch the Angel. “Don’t have to stop. ‘S all good. Just curious.” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale replied. He was still blushing, but he put his hands back on the table. 

He still rubbed his hands and fingers and palms together, but slower now. Had it been like this when he first showed up, Crowley might not have even noticed it. 

The Demon could feel the unease in the air. He felt bad for bringing it up. It obviously didn’t mean anything; it was just something that made his angel happy. That’s all he really wanted. 

He decided to take a small risk. 

Without a word, but asking with his facial expression, Crowley reached out again and placed his hand over one of Aziraphale’s. The Angel looked up at him immediately but didn’t say anything at first. 

For a few moments, they both just sat there looking at each other. Their hands were still in front of them. Then Aziraphale looked down and began to rub little circles into the back of Crowley’s hand.

“Sort of stabilizing.” he said “I do it when I’m nervous, but when I’m happy too. Just whenever I feel like it really.” 

“Is nice,” Crowley responded. He was looking at their joined hands now too. As he focused more and more on the movement of Aziraphale’s thumb over his skin, he began to relax. He hadn’t noticed before that he needed to relax, but now that he was relaxing, he felt all the tension fade away. 

They spent the rest of the night like that. Eventually, the connection of their hands seemed to float away from their minds. They stayed touching, with Aziraphale painting small circles into Crowley’s skin, but they almost forgot they were doing it. 

They drank a bit and they ate a bit and they talked a lot. Aziraphale talked about how excited he was with all the change he was seeing in the land. Crowley talked about how impressed he was by the different things the humans seemed to come up with every day. And it all just seemed so damn  _natural_ . 

By the end of the night (or the beginning of the new morning, really) they released their hands without mentioning it and walked side by side out of the pub. Crowley made a show of bowing deeply to Aziraphale before blowing him an obnoxious kiss and sauntering down the street. 

The Angel made it back to the stables just as Oliver was showing up for his morning ride. 

“Good morning, sir Aziraphale.” The boy said. 

"Ah, good morning, dear boy!” Aziraphale was glowing. “So sorry I stayed out so late. I’m afraid I got a bit sidetracked.” 

“It’s alright, sir. I fared well enough on my own. Had a nice night, did you?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale twirled his thumbs a bit faster. “Yes, I believe I did.” 


	8. General Hand Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get used to some new, happy changes on the bus ride from Tadfield Airbase to Crowley's flat in Mayfair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update on this one. The holiday season is always a chaotic time in my life. Updates should be back to a normal schedule from now on. You can check out my Tumblr for more regular updates: https://goodomenshastakenovermylife.tumblr.com/

_Tadfield, 2019_

_We’re on our own side._

The thought was still fresh, still new. Aziraphale was trying to get used to it. Really, he and Crowley had been on their own side for centuries now. It had been them against Heaven and Hell for much longer than either could realize, but  _being_ was one thing while  _accepting_ was another. 

Now, after the end of The End, they sat next to each other on a bus to Mayfair. It was a strange feeling. They’d sat next to each other like this before. Many, many times in fact, but never without looking over their shoulders every few minutes. 

The bus was next to empty. There were Crowley and Aziraphale, the driver, a drunk sprawled out on three seats near the door, and father and his young daughter cuddling up near the escape hatch. The space in the bus felt strange too. Usually, when the two man-shaped beings sat together like this in public places, they had to make sure they were surrounded by other bodies. A sort of human cloak, in a sense. They didn’t need that now. 

Crowley was tired. After everything that had happened (fighting Hastur and Ligur, losing Aziraphale, keeping the Bentley together, stopping time, and standing against Satan himself) he felt another century-long nap coming on. 

Aziraphale was tired too, but more in a mental sort of way. He was scared of losing his ties to Heaven. Don’t get him wrong, he was glad to be free of its suffocating hold and emotionally stifling ways, but change was difficult. That’s how human he really is; he fears change just like everyone else. 

One thing wasn’t going to change though. 

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, who was leaning heavily on the window next to him. The Angel could see how exhausted he was. He looked at the Demon’s chin, which was tilted upward just a bit, neck exposed. He looked at his tattoo, which stood out against his paling skin. He tried to catch a peek at his bright eyes behind the glasses, but could only see a tiny sliver of yellow through the holes in the side of his shades. 

Yes, some things never change.

Tentatively, Aziraphale placed his hand over Crowley’s and waited. Either the Demon was too tired to notice or just didn’t care, but he didn’t move at first. Aziraphale took that as a good thing, and slowly interlaced his fingers with Crowley’s. 

Crowley turned then and for a moment they both looked at each other as if there was nothing else in the world. And, of course, there practically wasn’t. 

“Okay?” Crowley asked.

“Peachy,” Aziraphale answered. 

A small smile crept over Crowley’s lips and it quickly spread to Aziraphale’s as well. 

After knowing each other for about six thousand years, the two had learned how to communicate without using words. 

Aziraphale’s smile said  _I know I’ve been difficult over the years, and I know how hard I’ve made these sorts of things, but I’m here now if you still want me._

Crowley’s smile sang  _I’ve loved you from the start. That won’t change. Whatever you want, however you want it, it’s yours. Just ask._

They held each other’s hand for the rest of the ride back to Crowley’s flat. Sometimes they would whisper to each other, sometimes they would laugh too loud, sometimes they would sit silently and look each other in the eye. But they stayed connected the entire time. 

Right before they reached the last stop that would take them to their destination, Aziraphale said to Crowley “I want to do this more often. Always, really. Now that we can. We aren’t out of the woods yet, of course, but I honestly have tired of waiting.” 

Crowley could barely contain himself after hearing it. He almost jumped up and crowed with joy on the spot. He probably would have too, if he weren’t so damn tired. 

He said to Aziraphale, a little shakily, but still certain “Whatever you want, angel. Ain’t nothing they can throw at us that we can’t deal with together, anyway.” 

Aziraphale’s smile grew larger somehow. His eyes shone brighter. By some miracle, he felt happier, even though becoming any happier than he already was simply didn’t seem possible. 

The Angel gave his demon a little squeeze and once again let his eyes do the talking for him. Crowley squeezed back and let his glasses shift down a few centimeters, just enough to let his angel see him wink. Then he lifted them back in place and sat up a bit straighter. 

When the bus came to a stop and it was time for the Angel and the Demon to get off, they rose from their seats together and walked off the bus with their hands still interlocked. 

The Angel got off first, letting his arm fall behind him as he guided Crowley down the steps. Then he waited for Crowley to take the lead and lead him into his building. 

There, they would sit together and discuss the Plan. They would pour over Agnes’s last prophecy and come up with an idea to save one another once again. They would hold hands the entire time and would cuddle up close when it came time to sit on Crowley’s sofa and rest. Crowley would eventually fall asleep with his hand still tucked into Aziraphale’s. And the Angel would watch him snooze with a soft smile. 

Their hands wouldn’t part for the rest of the night. And even when Crowley woke, they would still be connected. 

They were making up for lost time, and now that there was no one left to stop them, it would take quite a bit of force to pry them apart. 

But at last, an Angel and a Demon could touch without worry. And soon, when one of them was sprawled out on a dusty, old chase in the back of a newly saved bookshop, and the other was sitting in a cushy chair across the way - when they felt an urge to sit closer, or brush their hand along an arm, or hook a foot under a leg, they would do it. And their hands would meet again.

And again.

And again.

And again. 

Because they  _could_ . And because they  _wanted_ to. So they did. And they faced everything new like this: hand in hand, hearts conjoined, lives intertwined. 


	9. Offering an Arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale accompanies Crowley to see Hamlet and learns how well the miracle ended up going.

_The Globe Theatre, 1601_

The whole play thing… Well, it just sort of got out of hand. 

Crowley had meant to fill up the audience a bit more, maybe even get a good crowd going, a few super-fans here and there… 

What he  _hadn’t_ intended was to make  _Hamlet_ the greatest play of the century and start paving the way for Shakespeare’s timeless fame. 

_It was those damn eyes of his_ , Crowley would later say.  _The way he looks at me asking a question without using words… That little raise of the eyebrows and the slight curl of his lips and the sparkle behind those beautiful, perfect light blue-_

No, best not to let it get that far. 

_Hamlet_ has been playing for almost a month now, and it showed no signs of slowing down. New folks were coming to see it for the first time, old folks were coming to see it again, the doors were always open because fans just kept coming. 

Crowley stayed for the first few showings, just to make sure it all worked out. He hadn’t gone for a couple of weeks now. But he was here tonight. 

Not because he was checking up on the miracle or anything - nothing like that.

No, this visit was for pleasure. 

In a sense. He would never admit that, of course, because that would mean admitting to thinking of seeing Aziraphale as  _pleasure_ rather than  _convivence_ . But alas, here he was. 

And there he was: Aziraphale. His angel. 

Aziraphale walked primly through the crowd with a small look of awe playing across his face. He had made several mental notes since he saw the line to the door of  _The Globe_ , but he made another to thank Crowley porously all the while expressing that he had simply done too much. 

The Angel wanted to spread a little good, of course, and he knew getting Shakespeare’s play running would do that - creating culture, bringing more people together, spreading a nice message - all that. 

He would never have expected what Crowley had ended up doing. 

He almost felt bad for him. After all, it must have been a lot of work. The Demon was probably beyond exhausted. 

Then again, Crowley isn’t the type to do something if he doesn’t want to. Aziraphale knew that, and the feeling made him warm and almost giddy. 

Because that meant Crowley had wanted to make Aziraphale happy, no matter how much work it took. 

Crowley slipped past people in the crowd around the theatre. He had to dodge elbows and make certain his shoes weren’t stepped on, but he made it to the Angel’s side rather quickly. He didn’t think much of it, but Aziraphale had spotted him a while off and put in a little extra effort to help clear his path.

“You really didn’t have to do all  _this_ , dear boy,” Aziraphale said once his counterpart reached him.

“Do wot?” Crowley scrunched his eyebrows together and made a face that he hoped looked truly confused. “Did your miracle. Got some folks to come see that prat’s little play.” 

“Well, there’s no need to be rude.”

“Rude how?”

“Still, I’m impressed.” Aziraphale soldiered past the comment. “Truly impressed. Almost regret not doing more in Edinburgh.” 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Crowley smirked as he thought back to the coin toss that lead to this particular predicament. “’M sure you did great. Come on, then. Got us good seats.” 

Crowley held out his arm towards the Angel and, quite without thinking about it, his breath. He let out a big exhale as Aziraphale slipped his own arm through the Demon’s, blushing just a bit. 

Crowley made sure the other audience members gave them room now. They walked arm-in-arm into the theatre and up to the balconies. They kept their arms locked together for the whole of the play. 

If asked, they would say it was because of how packed it was. They were simply trying to take up as little space as possible, they would insist. 

Whatever the reason didn’t matter much, of course. Because by the time  _Hamlet_ was over and the curtain was closed, they were both smiling just a little bit bigger than before. 


	10. Gentle Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale comforts Crowley while he deals with sensory overload.   
> Featuring autistic!Crowley

_Soho, 2023_

A. Z. Fell & Co.’s Bookshop usually stood out like a heavenly beacon at night. Aziraphale didn’t sleep and usually spent the nighttime reading or restoring the oldest copies of his most prized novels, so the lights were often kept on into the late hours of the evening. 

In the past, before the world didn’t end, Aziraphale would turn most of the lights off and light some candles to see by instead, but this habit was forgotten at the request of a certain Demon who had become a sort of living oxymoron; a Demon who was afraid of fire. 

It was hardly a problem though. Aziraphale was perfectly fine replacing the candles with some (albeit expensive) environment-friendly lamps that now took up permanent residence on top of various desks and shelves around the shop. 

And so the Angel got to read on during the night and his demon felt comfortable in knowing he needn’t worry. 

One particular night after the failed End, however, the bookshop was strangely dark. It was around 12:43 in the morning and almost all the lights in the building were out. Only a small, very dim lamp with a thin gray blanket laying overtop it was on. Aziraphale had put the blanket overtop it. He said he needed at least one light to see, but was willing to compromise in order to keep Crowley calm. 

Crowley was currently curled up on the sofa in the backroom, his head tucked neatly under Aziraphale’s arm and his arms clutching his sides. Aziraphale sat as still as stone, laying his arm lightly over Crowley’s back. 

The Demon got like this sometimes - overwhelmed by everything around him.  _Too much,_ he would call it. Too much light, too much sound, too much touching… 

Aziraphale had a few theories about what exactly was the cause of these episodes. He had found some very helpful books on it and read them all in one evening. Then he quietly tucked the books away in the shop and never told Crowley about any of them. 

Really, he reasoned, it didn’t matter all that much  _why_ these things happened. What mattered was knowing what he could do to help.

It was different each time. Right now, Crowley needed to turn it all off. Aziraphale had started the evening on the other side of the couch just watching Crowley hold his head and slowly rock back and forth on the other end. After a short while the Demon crawled closer and ended up clutching onto Aziraphale’s side. And this is how they sat. In silence, mostly, although occasionally Crowley would make little sounds here and there. 

Crowley slowly turned his head so he could peak out from under Aziraphale’s arm. He whispered “Hug?”

Aziraphale smiled and nodded his head slowly. Then he shifted forward just a bit and turned so his torso was facing Crowley directly. He moved his arms out a bit but was careful not to move too much. He let Crowley position them both. 

The Demon stuffed his face into Aziraphale’s neck so his eyes were covered. Aziraphale lightly placed one hand on Crowley’s lower back and the other on his head. Sometimes Crowley needed movement or rhythm, other times he seemed to prefer complete stillness. This time, he moved his head up and down once in a quick, jerking movement. Aziraphale complied immediately. 

With his thumb, the Angel rubbed small circles into Crowley’s skull. Crowley began to make little sounds that Aziraphale might compare to a cat’s purr if the circumstances were different. 

They sat like this for a long while. Crowley kept making little noises here and there and eventually began to speak with words again. He began uses full sentences by sunrise. And shortly after 7:00, he was back to his old self again. 

The blanket was removed from the lamp, which was now turned off because the sunlight made everything visible enough without it. Aziraphale made some tea to share with Crowley and they moved from the chase in the backroom to the small table in the mini flat above the shop. 

They held their tea with one hand and held onto each other with their free hands. 

“A calm day in, then?” The Angel asked. 

“Yeah, think that’d be nice,” Crowley responded, still speaking a little slowly and with half-closed eyes. 

“Excellent, my dear.” 

The day that followed was untroubled and comforting. And, miraculously, not a single customer came to jingle at the bell at the door of the shop. Although this was less to do with any miracle and more so to do with the website Aziraphale set up for his shop a about a year ago. 

When Aziraphale opened the bookshop a few centuries ago, he would have never imagine it would have a website of any kind. But after he found out that he could put a little message on the site saying something like “please do not disturb the shop today under any circumstances” he figured the hassle with the internet was worth it to make sure Crowley could have complete peace when he needed one of his calm down days.

So there they were: an Angel and a Demon. Utterly in love and safe in each other’s arms. And on difficult days when Crowley was hit by Too Much, Aziraphale was there to turn off the world for him. And after a few hours, they would go back to the world together to live another day in love and completely safe. 


	11. Nose Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a clam day in the South Downs, Aziraphale cooks up some breakfast while Crowley performs his favorite ritual of painting his nails.

_South Downs, 2024_

The cottage was really starting to feel like  _home_ . It was stuffed to the brim with plants and bookshelves and music CDs and angel figurines, as well as a few happy photos of one  _real_ Angel and his cherished demon. 

On one particular morning, five summers after The Summer, Crowley sat on the couch in the sitting room of the cottage repainting his nails with such a deep black color that it really shouldn’t have been able to be seen by someone unless they were about to die from head trauma. His seated position also shouldn’t have been allowed, since he was more twisted than Aziraphale’s favorite soft pretzels. 

He sat on his bottom with his head leaned forward so far it almost touched the table in front of him. One leg was bent next to him with his arm running under it and the other was curled up beneath him. He was also sticking his tongue out, just a bit, as he concentrated completely on the task at hand. 

Aziraphale was just in the other room - the small kitchen that was rarely ever used. He was determined to change that this morning. He was halfway through cooking some French toast. He’d been following a recipe he found in a century-old cookbook from one of his many piles upon piles of books, and was certain he could make a delectable dish with it if he could just find the right measuring tools… 

Crowley had, of course, suggested he just miracle in a bunch of cooking appliances and be done with it, but the Angel was insistent about doing it  _the right way_ . 

He’d been “doing it the right way” for about three hours now. 

Aziraphale was beginning to get irritated. 

With a quick glance to the other room where Crowley was coiled up, the Angel made certain he wouldn’t be noticed, then he snapped his fingers and admired the two plates of café-acceptable quality French toast. Picking them both up with a satisfied smile, only tinted with a touch of guilt, he walked proudly into the sitting room. 

“Breakfast!” Aziraphale announced brightly. 

“Hrmg,” Crowley answered. 

The Demon was only about halfway through his right hand and was beginning to show signs of irritation himself. 

“Do you need assistance, darling?” Aziraphale delicately put the plates down on the table and joined Crowley on the couch. He didn’t wait for a response, he just plucked the nail polish from Crowley’s left hand and got to work on his right. 

“Hey! I was doing fine,” Crowley grumbled, but he sat still and relaxed anyway. 

“Mmhm,” Aziraphale gave a quick smile before turning back to focusing on Crowley’s hands. 

“I don’t know how you ever got this done without me,” the Angel continued. 

“I managed fine,” Crowley thought about all the times he had started out on painting his nails, gotten frustrated about getting them perfect, gave up and just coated his entire hands, then had a mini freak out in the shower afterward. 

It relaxed him, he had said. He would have just wished the black paint into being like everything else, but he liked the feel of it, he said. 

Aziraphale decided to just go with it. 

On the bright side, getting to hold Crowley’s hands like this and help him with something just like all the times he had helped him in the past was a gift in and of itself. 

By the time all the fingers were painted and a second coat was drying, Aziraphale had to reheat their food with a swipe of his hand so they could dig in.

Crowley made show of having to wait until the nail polish was dry, but once again Aziraphale was quick to pick up on the hint. 

“You’re simply ridiculous sometimes, my dear,” he mumbled as he held up a piece of French toast to the Demon’s mouth. 

“’M not,” Crowley said as he closed his lips over the fork.  _Wow,_ he thought  _Not bad_ . 

He had started eating a couple of years ago at Aziraphale’s request. Not much, because the textures of the food still sometimes got to him, but it was a small thing to make the Angel happy and he was more than willing to put in the effort. 

After the meals were done and Crowley’s nail polish was dry, the two cuddled up together on the couch. Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and Aziraphale replaced the empty plates with a good book, which he then picked up and began to read aloud. 

This had become their sort of morning ritual. The sun would rise, Crowley would toss himself onto the couch to do whatever it was he wanted to focus on that day, Aziraphale would make tea (or, in this case, food), and then they would partake in a bit of cuddling until the day really began. 

It was a wonderful existence; it really was. 

“What if we pop over to France today for lunch, hm?” Crowley spoke against Aziraphale’s shirt after a while. “Been a while since we’ve been there and if I remember correctly they have the only good crepes in Europe?” 

“In the _world_ ,” Aziraphale said wistfully. “Good idea. It would be a nice change of scenery for a bit too.” 

“Mm,” Crowley had really just wanted to say  _I love you_ , but still hadn’t quite yet figured out how. He was better at  _showing_ that kind of thing. And France is home to the City of Love, after all. 

Without thinking further about it, Crowley leaned in and gave his angel a small kiss on the nose. Then he laid his head back on his shoulder and closed his eyes.

“I love you, too,” sang Aziraphale.


End file.
